Cause and Effect
by storygirl1015
Summary: "How far would you go to protect someone you care about?" Cause? I knew what caused me to participate in this madness, these sinister 'games' but I could've never predicted the effects. That I'd be part of a rebellion. That I'd ally with the deadly Careers. That I'd fall in love. I am Blythe Rosenbark of district 7, now a catalyst for disaster. Eventual Cato/OC
1. Little White Lie

**I've been reading a lot of Hunger Games fics lately. I can't believe how fast I got hooked. Lol To be honest, I haven't even read the trilogy yet, but I memorized the entire series by going to the official wikia page. Photographic memory, yup. So I kinda ruined it for myself…but I still plan to go back and read it very, very soon. In the meantime, there's this idea, and it just came swarming around in my head. As if I don't have enough open projects. Ugh.**

**Anyway, please review and let me know how I did. It'd really mean a lot to me.**

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games trilogy is owned by Ms. Suzanne Collins. Any characters that _don't_ appear in the books, are probably mine.**

**Summary: **"How far would you go to protect someone you cared about?" What if Katniss Everdeen wasn't the only one to volunteer in order to save someone during the 74th Hunger Games? When her blind best friend is reaped, Blythe Rosenbark of District 7 volunteers to keep her out of the brutal arena, even joing the talented but deadly Careers to increase her odds of winning. But add in a love-hate relationship with her fierce ally, and getting through the Games in one piece becomes a lot harder than before.

Eventual Cato/OC possible eventual Gale/OC

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There are so many moments that stand out. So many tiny details filling my head as I march toward the stage:

The first time I held an axe.

The first time I tried cutting wood with that axe, and gave myself a huge splinter.

The day I met Mellia Finch, my best friend.

The time I saw a man get whipped, because he had been keeping extra wood to use for his family during the winter.

The only time I ever saw the ocean, and how in awe I was.

When I encase myself in them I feel oddly peaceful, almost as if I am in another world light years apart from this one, and all of this is a distant daydream.

Unfortunately, the rational part of my mind reminds me how untrue that is. This nightmare I am living_ is_ real. I just volunteered for Mel. I just sealed my fate to die.

Let me explain what is happening, if I can even wrap my head around it myself. My name is Blythe Rosenbark, and I live in the Panem's District 7.

Every year, children from all over the country are chosen in what is called the Reapings to participate in a horrible battle royale to the death known as the Hunger Games.

And as of right now, I have just become one of those twenty-four children sentenced to die.

The craziest thing is, I chose to do it, I did what some find to be the noblest calling of all, but what any normal people would view as suicidal.

But I couldn't just allow my best friend to go into the arena. Mel is blind.

She wouldn't last five seconds in there.

For as long as I could remember, Mel had been everything to me. My best friend.

More than that, we were true sisters at heart.

In Panem, most people treated cripples like they were the lowest scum anywhere, and wrote them off as extra baggage.

No one had any pity to spare—they couldn't afford it. Life was hard for everyone, everywhere, but for some more than others.

I learned that lesson early on, growing up.

Life in District 7 wasn't as hard as it could have been in an even poorer district, but it wasn't easy either.

Everyone worked hard to support themselves and their families.

But people were generally grounded and looked out for one another. Except for people like Mel.

I learned at just five years old that the handicapped were one of the only exceptions to this rule.

Sure, people pitied them. They didn't _want_ to ostracize them.

But what choice did they have, when they could barely keep their own families clothed and fed?

That was the way my parents had it explained it to me anyway.

When I held my mother's hand as she led me through the market while she shopped for more materials to make textiles, I saw a little girl, who couldn't be any older than me.

My mother had stopped to chat with Ms. Vivi, a plump, neat looking middle aged woman who always seemed to know the town gossip. She was a middle-school teacher.

I liked her well enough; she had four grown children, all boys, and lived with her husband in their small cottage with two chickens and a goat.

She babysat me and my older sister sometimes, if there was no one else to watch us, and gave us small chunks of the goat's sweet cheese if she could spare it.

But she wasn't what had my attention today.

I watched with rapt fascination as the little girl, sitting on an old stool in between a woman selling spools of thread and a peanut vendor, whittled away at something in her small, dirty hands.

I carefully slipped my hand away from my mother's while she was preoccupied and made my way over to her.

I gave her a friendly smile as I approached, but she didn't seem to notice me. I took in her appearance.

She wore a faded cotton dress that hung loosely on one shoulder and was barefoot; the soles of her feet were black from dirt.

I glanced up at her face, pale from the little exposure to sunlight, with unkempt filthy golden hair almost tinted auburn that stopped at her collarbone, like the color-changing leaves in the fall.

She had a small frame, and looked like she didn't get enough to eat.

Her eyes were the oddest color I had ever seen, a pale shade of green with a strange kind of luster to them, almost glazed.

I tilted my head at her, furrowing my brows and squinting as I tried to figure out which direction she was looking at.

She didn't blink, only kept staring straight ahead as if she didn't see me.

Then, I watched the movement of her hands.

Her small fingers were firmly holding a good-sized block of wood as she chipped away at it with a sturdy carving knife that was obviously passed down judging by how old it looked.

I could already see the simple wood taking shape as I studied the half-finished form in her hands.

She moved her hands deftly as she worked, never once nicking her fingers as I know I would've done.

The wood shavings fell into her lap, but she didn't seem to notice or care. In her hands, she had a half-finished shape that looked almost like a bird.

I was struck by the great amount of detail it had.

She had obviously finished with the head, and was working on the body now.

Its eyes were sharp, intelligent, and its beak formed a cynical smile. It looked so real, I almost felt inclined to stroke its head.

"Wow, you're really good." I told her at last, and she seemed to flinch at the sound of my voice.

She blinked once, staring slightly upward into my face.

"You…" she murmured, barely audible. It was like she hadn't been talking for a long time. "You see me."

I gave her an odd look, not understanding her meaning. Of course I saw her. She wasn't invisible.

"So, where did you learn to cut like that? My sissy told me only a few people from carpenter families can do that, usually." I tapped my chin, wondering if maybe this girl was from a family of furniture makers or carpenters.

Someone we had traded with or bought things from.

She didn't look familiar, but I somehow knew in that instant that I would never forget her face.

She continued to stare at a spot on my slightly freckled face, her eyes glazed wide in horror.

I couldn't understand why she seemed so petrified of me.

"Um, m-my name is Blythe." I stuck out my hand to her, "what's yours?" the girl seemed to peer at me curiously now, though it was hard to say with her weird eyes.

She looked as if she might be about to reply though, when my mother suddenly came over.

"—Blythe!" she exclaimed, snatching me up by the arm and hauling me away without a second glance at the little girl.

I looked back sadly, wanting to talk to her more.

She barely seemed to register I was gone as she slowly went back to whittling.

"Where do you get off, scooting away like that?" my mother asked, miffed. "When we get home, I'll have your father make me a switch so I can spank you!"

I looked up into her uniquely angled face. I had never met someone with a facial structure quite like my mother's.

Her features were generally sharp, but contrastingly soft at the same time, depending on from what angle you saw her.

Looking at her from one side as opposed to the other was like looking at two completely different people.

"Mama," I pressed on cautiously, ignoring the angry threats.

I knew that by the time we'd gotten home to our spacious one story cabin, she most likely would've calmed down enough not to spank me.

Only two instances when she had whipped me could be called exceptions to my generalization. "How come that little girl was by herself at the market? Does her mama know she's there?"

This was of course only a small portion of the long list of topics I really wanted to ask, but I felt this was as good a topic as any to broach the rocky shores in order to get answers from my mother.

She was definitely a lot better about answering questions than my stoic father generally was but had a tendency to skirt around the subject in a way that never fully left me satisfied.

I think she did the same thing with my sister Maple's questions.

"She was probably working, honey." she answered patiently.

I blinked and gave this about a minute of thought before I brought up my next question. "But I thought you said I'm too little to go to the market by myself? You said that Maple doesn't get to work in the market 'til she's thirteen."

I gave her my most innocent stare, in hopes that she wouldn't shy away from the truth the more complex my questions got.

My mother cleared her throat and shifted the sack she'd sewn herself on her right shoulder, while adjusting her hold on my hand with her left. "Some families need extra help. So kids work, even when they're your age."

Well, that made sense, but I had a feeling there was more to it than that. Instead of pushing that subject, I asked another question. The one I had been most curious about.

"Her eyes looked like glass, mama." I told my mother with wonder. "I don't know where she was looking when she talked to me." We stopped walking abruptly, and her grip seemed to tighten around my hand almost painfully before she released it again.

She caught my gaze and looked at me sternly. "Blythe, listen to me. That girl—she was one of them. She was blind, and that makes her an Untouchable."

I was totally confused now. What? An… Untouchable? Did that mean she didn't like to be touched, or maybe it wasn't safe to touch her?

My mother's gaze softened as she watched my young face contort with silent confusion, my eyes brimmed with questions.

She sighed, before running a hand through my short, unevenly cropped hair gently—the botched result of my first half-baked attempt to be a stylist (a short-lived dream), like the ones I heard about in the Capitol.

This always seemed to soothe her, so I didn't mind. "I know it's hard to understand right now, but it's best if you don't talk to her again, ok?"

I swallowed, and when I saw she was waiting for a response, I nodded slowly, barely managing a shaky, "Y-yes."

I wondered why the word stuck in my throat like hot tar.

It tasted bitter, and I would later come to realize this was the first time I had unwittingly lied to my mother.

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**This is my first ever Hunger Games fic…I'm hoping it does well…I know most people aren't crazy about OC's since they tend to be pretty one-dimensional characters, but I promise you that Blythe will develop throughout the story, and will not be just a random Mary-Sue that cries or falls in love at first sight. Please, please review…I would really appreciate any feedback I could get for this. **


	2. It Begins

**This is going to be the last chapter I post until I know how the story will be received. I'm really nervous since this is my first fic for the Hunger Games fandom and all, but I'm just really hoping I'll get some kind of support...please. Please review, and thanks!**

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The next time we went back to the market, my older sister was with us.

She led me over to a stall to watch a man making pretty wooden trinkets like boxes and little balls.

My mother was busy haggling with the traveling peddler who provided her with all the materials she needed, Ms. Bates from District 8, so she would be busy for a while.

It usually took a while for Ms. Bates to offer a price my mother would agree to.

"Look," my sister breathed dreamily, pointing to a beautiful hand-carved mahogany box with a custom engraved finish. "It's beautiful isn't it? So well made and romantic…" I stared curiously as her fingers delicately ran over the lid.

I didn't understand what romance had to do with anything, but the box _was_ nice.

It was too bad it was so far out of our price range. She sighed wistfully as she removed her hand and held it to her chest, looking sad.

I squeezed her other hand comfortingly and she gave me a small, thankful smile.

"Come on, where do you want to go next?" she asked, leading me along with a certain skip to her step this time. Her eyes sparkled cheerfully; she had my mother's ocean blue eyes. I thought about the one place I really wanted to visit—the blind girl's corner.

I know my mother had forbidden it, but I was curious to know what was so bad about such a frail looking girl. She seemed harmless.

I told my sister, and she looked skeptical, but not knowing what I was planning to do, she agreed.

We arrived in the shadier part of the market, where people traded for illegal or hard to get things, and the poorer merchants sold their goods.

I saw my sister scrunch her nose airily and cough into her hands.

The air was filled with sawdust and thick foul-smelling smoke that the wind blew from the papermill, but I ignored it.

"This way," I said, tugging her in the direction I remembered seeing the girl's station.

She muttered a complaint under her breath, but allowed me to pull her along.

When we got to the spot the girl had been sitting in, I saw the peanut vendor, and the lady selling her cheap quality thread, but not the blurry-eyed, bare foot girl.

Then, I heard kids bickering, and for some reason I just knew it involved the girl.

I turned a corner sharply and there on the ground a group of children were beating the girl with sticks and jeering insults.

She covered her head as best she could, curling into a tight ball in a feeble attempt to protect her face and abdomen.

"Say something, mute!" one boy taunted. "Squeal like the pig you are!"

My sister gawked behind me, like she was too shocked to move, but I sprang into action when I saw a dark-haired boy push her onto her knees while an older girl came up and kicked her in the back of the head.

I used all of my strength to fling myself at her and we both hit the dirt, hard.

I smacked the girl on her right cheek with all the fury I felt, and a nasty red imprint instantly formed.

She gaped up at me, not really sure what was going on.

"What the hell is this?!" a gap-toothed boy in an old porkpie and pants that were sewn at the knees bellowed.

I could that he probably came from a family involved with the paper mill. He was dressed like an errand boy in training.

I turned on him next, jumping off the girl and shoving him down with all my strength, I hit him in the chest until he started to cough, struggling to pull me off him.

I was suddenly yanked off him, and angrily hissed and clawed the air, worked up into a full on rage at this point.

I turned to see a few adults had come to investigate, my sister hovering near them with her face still pale and awed. "What the hell you kids think you're doing?" he asked, still making sure to keep me suspended and away from the boy.

The boy I had been beating slowly sat up, his lip split and his eyes brimming with fear. "S-she came after us, like a crazed person!" he yelped weakly.

Another man sighed, stepping forward. "Look, you're Paul's boy, so we'll let this go for now. But you and your troop come causing us problems around here again and I'll take the switch to your backside myself. I make myself clear, boy?"

He nodded, "Y-yessir!" he yipped.

The girl I'd smacked helped him up, and the three other kids with them scrambled off after them, a few stopping to send me dirty looks.

I gave them my fiercest glare and they darted off again.

Finally, I was set down on my feet and grinned proudly to myself for a job well done.

That is, until someone was shaking me by the shoulders. "And you, what were you trying to do missy?"

I looked up into the man's hardened features and noticed how his thick, trimmed mustache twitched slightly when he frowned.

"You're just a little thing, a girl no less, and already you're picking fights with the boys." A thin woman clucked her disapproval, holding the sides of her apron to keep it out of the dirt.

I didn't care what any of them said though. Those kids got what was coming to them.

Nobody seemed to notice the small figure still hunched in the dirt and trembling.

I looked at it from the corner of my eye as she straightened herself slightly and began to try and crawl away.

The adults continued to berate me, but I paid them no mind.

My sister finally promised them that she'd keep a better eye on me, and that it wouldn't happen again.

I walked over to the little girl and crouched down in her path; luckily, she was as slow as a half-dead slug.

I touched her arm lightly and she immediately flinched away like I hit her.

I saw her glossy eyes through her messy bangs and recognized the flash of fear in that frozen gaze.

"You okay?" I asked, helping her up lightly. She just blinked, trembling as I brushed the dirt off her.

She was actually just a little taller than me—but I was the second shortest in my class anyway, so that wasn't unusual— and I noticed she was wearing the same grimy dress she'd been in the other day, now even filthier than ever after what she'd endured.

I wasn't really expecting her to say anything, so when she did, I let her go in shock. "Y-you shouldn't have helped me. Now they'll c-come after you, too." I blinked, my head tilted innocently.

Maple hovered behind me with a heavy frown on her normally bubbly face.

Obviously, she wasn't happy with me, but she wasn't trying to stop me, so I listened to the girl and waited for her to continue.

"Y-you know what everybody calls me…right? I'm not like you, I'm—"

"An Untouchable," I finished, noting the way she flinched at the word and her shoulders slouched forward shamefully. "But I don't care." I added, "I just thought we could be friends. My name's Blythe Rosenbark, but I think I told you that already." I giggled.

The girl's head slowly lifted, and for a minute, what looked like shocked confusion passed over her features before a tiny ghost of a smile appeared.

"Mellia Finch." She said quietly. "My family calls me Mel, though." I couldn't help but crack a big, lopsided grin.

"Ok, Mel. Let's be friends from now on." I said, squeezing her hand.

She seemed to think about it before nodding, squeezing my hand back gently.

"I think I'd like that…"

-XoXoXo-

Years passed and Mel and I remained steadfast friends.

We were inseperable.

My sister eventually told my mother what happened when we found her at the market place and she saw how dirty I was.

Boy, did I get beat for that one. But it was ok, I had a new friend.

My parents weren't happy that I was friends with an Untouchable, but they slowly realized that no matter what they did, nothing was going to keep me and Mel apart.

I understood their concern.

Anyone who associated with Untouchables faced the high risk of being socially ostracized and angering the Peacekeepers.

But I saw Mel for the person she was on the inside, not for some irrelevant title.

Even without eyesight, she saw through people better than anyone I knew.

And she was an amazing artist, the way she could carve any type of wood and turn it into the most beautiful wood carving imaginable.

She couldn't go to school, because Untouchables weren't allowed, so she had learned to carve as a hobby, and sold her creations to help support her family.

Whenever the yearly Reapings came, we snuck off into the woods the night before, whispering all the typical secrets best friends share and just holding onto the other's company.

These were our good luck rituals.

Neither of us ever got called, so we joked that it meant that the wood fairies were watching over us.

I expected the results of this year's Reaping's to be no different. I could've never imagined how wrong I was…

"Mellia Finch!"

Instantly, my eyes grow huge as I stare at the District 7 escort on stage, unable to breathe.

I clench Mel's hand, refusing to think of anyone separating us.

I can tell my hands are clammy now, but I just keep squeezing her hand and fighting back the tears.

We stand together in the fourteen-year old section, two souls ensnared in a cruel fate, two best friends closer than sisters ripped apart at the evil hands of the Capitol.

No. No. No! This can't be happening; after everything we'd been through together, they weren't taking my best friend from me.

Mel didn't deserve to die a gruesome death on national television while some stupid Capitol farts made bets and laughed about it. It wasn't fair!

In the poorer Districts especially, or the ones who weren't exactly in the Capitol's favor, everyone walked a tight rope.

When someone fell between the cracks, there was no one brave enough to pull them back up.

At least not those who couldn't pull their own weight.

But I didn't care if Mel couldn't see, what she made was beautiful; _she_ was beautiful, and no one could change my mind.

She seemed to understand, even sympathize with how others felt about her—her handicap.

She held no ill will towards anyone, and always seemed humble.

She hadn't been corrupted by our harsh environment, and that was what made her stand out to me.

Mel was the second youngest child in a large family.

She had six siblings in total, and her father was working almost around the clock shifts at the lumber mill alongside mine to support his wife and many children.

Her mother found work at the paper making plant.

The hours there were long, the factory was cramped and the fumes were disgusting, but every time I had seen Mrs. Finch, she seemed upbeat and determined to do what was necessary in order for her to help her family survive.

Mel had never owned a new piece of clothing in her life, like most people I knew, but she never complained, even though all she ever got were her older siblings' hand-me-downs, or the remade pieces of their stitched together rags.

Her oldest sister, Mazey, and her husband would help support the family as best as a young newlywed couple could, but now they were expecting a child of their own, and all their extra money would soon need to be put towards preparing for the new baby.

Mel's life had been one of the saddest, most miserable existences possible and now she was being thrust into this.

She squeezed my hand, her lower lip trembling in a futile effort to give me a brave smile, which was more of a weak grimace. "Don't worry, Blythe." she whispered to me, "It's ok, it's not like I was anyone important anyway."

Was that supposed to make it ok then? How could she say that?

She was saying that she'd be better off gone, that no one would miss her, when I knew I would be lost without Mel at my side. _'Damnit Mel, be selfish for a change! Put your foot down!'_ I wanted her to resist, but I knew she couldn't. No one could.

I stared dry-mouthed, as my best friend was led away by two Peacekeepers toward the stage, her skirt catching on her own feet several times as she stumbled. I felt so powerless.

I couldn't watch this; it felt like my world was caving. Wasn't anyone going to stop this?!

How could they just sit back and allow Mel to be reaped!

I was trembling with an emotion somewhere between disgust and agony, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Wait!" I was pushing my way through now, my hand outstretched desperately, "I v-volunteer! I volunteer for h-her!" I cried, not even really hearing myself until I realized that the crowd was staring, obviously shell-shocked.

No one in our District ever volunteered. We weren't like the Career Districts...no one here really "prepared" for this in advance.

How did someone prepare to die a gruesome death that would be televised on national TV for sport?

I watched as the escort eyed me curiously—later I found out his name was Carlos Rippleston and he was Caesar Flickerman's nephew— gaping just a little as he slowly lowered the microphone from his lips.

A poor trembling Mel, flanked by Peacekeepers on both sides who held her arms firmly, turned toward the sound of my voice, her lips parted as dry heaves came from her mouth.

I closed my eyes with a grim smile and tried to fight back my own tears as the crowd parted to make way for me.

Every step I took felt weighted, like I would collapse at any minute.

Somehow, in spite of everything I made it up the steps to stand next to the escort.

He asked me my name and why I suddenly volunteered.

I gathered my nerves enough to speak, miraculously managing not to choke on my spittle as I quietly muttered out, "B-Blythe Rosenbark."

"Were you related to that young lady?" Carlos asked me, almost offhandedly.

"No." I swallowed, "But she's my best friend; we'd do anything for each other." _'Even die._' I stated confidently, I might not be sure of much right now, but this I knew with all my heart.

I looked out at the faces of the crowd and found those belonging to my closest relatives.

Until the moment I had stepped on stage, it hadn't even occurred how my family might be feeling.

What did they think of my decision? Was it selfish of me to jump to Mel's aid without considering them first?

But as I looked out at them, they seemed to be both somber yet understanding.

My mother had silent tears streaming down her cheeks; I could see the watery tracks they left on her pale, slightly dirty face.

My father's face, strong-jawed and grizzly, studied me with shimmering eyes.

He wasn't crying, he never did, but I could feel his emotions through that one gaze.

There were so many right now, some hard to name. But I think I saw immense pain, but also acceptance, and maybe even pride.

I had stood up for my friend at the expense of my own life, but I had done what he had always taught me to "stood by my beliefs".

I took account for what I believed in; so even if I never returned, he could take pride in knowing he had managed to impart his values onto his child.

As for my siblings, their faces were what I'd expect.

My older sister Maple's face looked floored, like her head was spinning, and she seemed like she would be sick.

Oakley looked at me with wide eyes, not really understanding what was going on. I gave my little brother a small, shaky smile to let him know I was ok. For now.

He was still so young, he had a whole life-time to learn the gruesome truth about how our very lives were ruled by these so-called "Games". He didn't need to be burdened with such a heavy weight at his age.

Besides, he would be watching me compete on live TV, along with the rest of the nation.

I wanted to hold off on him finding out until then. My knees began to buckle as the full gravity of what was happening hit me full force.

Carlos' eyes seemed to soften before he announced, "Blythe Rosenbark, your female tribute for District 7!"

No one spoke, or cheered, or whatever else he was expecting them to do, so he just cleared his throat and moved on to picking out the male's name.

I heard the faint shuffling as he stirred the slips up in the bowl, and then, reached in and picked out the name of some other doomed soul.

"Elmsley Westbirch!" he announced, finally, and a sixteen year old boy with slightly messy auburn hair stepped up.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and subtlety eyed my sister's direction to see her reaction.

She looked like she had been punched in the stomach and had the wind knocked out of her, twice as hard as before.

Two people she knew and cared about were going to be taken away.

Two people she might never see again.

I knew Elmsley, who most people called "Elms", pretty well.

He was in my sister's class at school.

He sold newspapers for extra change, and helped to deliver small bundles of firewood to families who were in particularly poor shape during the winter. His father worked at the paper factory, and his mother's family had been furniture makers for generations.

He had always been nice to me, and was generally seen as being well-liked and helpful.

I think he even had a thing for my sister, though when I mentioned it to her she simply brushed it off with a smile, saying he was just being nice and only thought of her as a friend.

But the secret looks he gave her looked similar to the ones dad gave mom sometimes, like just being near her made his whole life just a little brighter. Made all the suffering just a little more bearable.

My sister was to Elms what Mel was to me—everything.

I could think of so many thousands of reasons for why this just wasn't fair. He didn't deserve to die.

He didn't deserve to have to leave his family and friends and life behind to become the Capitol's entertainment fodder anymore than me, or Mel, or Maple and Oakley, or any other innocent child who had ever been forced into this twisted fate.

Carlos announced us to the crowd one more time as this year's District 7 tributes, we shook hands grimly, and then we were lead off the stage by Peacekeepers.

I knew what came next. We'd be going to the Justice Building, which was designed like many of the other buildings in our district, out of wood.

It looked like a tall wooden cabin, but it was two stories and smack in the middle of town.

When we walked off stage, I noticed for the first time a beautiful, somber-looking woman eyeing us closely, along with a tall, somewhat pale man.

I recognized her instantly to be the legendary Johanna Mason, a victor from our district in the past. I figured the man was probably also a victor if he was mentoring, and remembered his name was Byron…or Bark…wait, it was Blight!

I guess he was going to be our other mentor… kind of weird, considering I remember my mom telling me a while back that she used to have a crush on him when she was a teenager. Ugh, awkward much…

I walked over to them with Elms and Johanna blinked at us while Blight gave us a small, friendly smile.

"Blythe, right?" she asked finally, and I jumped a little before nodding. "You're with me." My heart raced a little and I managed to nod politely.

So she was going to be my mentor?

Wow. If I wasn't so completely scared out of my mind, I might be excited.

I had always kind of admired her. The way she wielded battle axes was amazing, and she was so poised, not to mention the cunning she used to outsmart everyone into underestimating her during the games, which ultimately gave her an edge.

Blight placed a comforting hand on Elms' shoulder and smiled reassuringly, "I may not be Johanna when it comes to using axes, but I'll put all I have into preparing you for this as much as possible." He said sincerely. Elms smiled gratefully.

Everything seemed to blur together after that, and before I knew it, I was sitting in a big empty room inside the Justice Building.

I felt like a caged animal waiting for the slaughter… I sat up slightly as the door opened and a Peacekeeper walked in; my mother followed and the Peacekeeper barked that we had three minutes, before slamming the door shut again.

I stood up and we looked directly into each other's eyes.

Her cerulean orbs swirled with a number of emotions and I'm sure my face was the same.

Then, we were embracing, and she was holding me tighter than she ever had before and sobbing into my hair.

"Blythe…" she whispered, "My baby…my Blythe."

I swallowed a thick lump in my throat as I held her just as closely.

I wanted to comfort her, but how could I? I couldn't make any promises not to worry, or say that I would come back and we would live in the luxury she'd always dreamed of.

The odds just _weren't_ in my favor.

"Mom," was all I could say, weakly.

Tears poured from my hazel eyes. There was no way I could sum up everything I wanted to say in these three short minutes.

So I just let her hold me as I held her and we stood there.

Finally, a Peacekeeper came back and Mom was forced to go.

She gave me one last, loving kiss and I broke down again.

I wanted to fling myself into her arms, but I knew it was too late for that now.

The next people to arrive were dad and Oakley, my father holding my brother's hand and looking as stone-faced as ever.

Well, to anyone else. But the chips in his mask were apparent to me.

His eyes looked slightly reddened, as if he had been crying lightly before he saw me, and his face appeared older and more worn than I had ever noticed it to be.

His russet hair was messier than usual.

Oakley stared up at me with large gray eyes and bit his lip.

He may not have fully understood what was happening, but he knew it wasn't good, and that I was leaving.

My father lets go of his hand to wrap me in his powerful arms, thick and well-muscled from chopping lumber since age five.

"I don't want you to do this. Every part of my mind screams at me to find a way to keep you from going but, I know my daughter when she's made up her mind. And there's no stopping her." I feel his shoulders hunch and know he is trying to keep from breaking down in front of me.

I don't bother using that extra energy though; I just let myself cry in my father's arms, knowing it may be the last time.

I can't believe all these years I took so many precious things for granted. Like being wrapped lovingly in my father's arms like this.

"Daddy, I'm sorry…I-I had to do it." I manage to choke out, desperately hoping he'll understand.

He pulls back and smiles down at me proudly, even though I know he must be torn apart on the inside.

My father is like a mountain, physically and emotionally. I just wish I could guarantee I'd come home to him.

"I just want you to know…you've made me—made us, so proud in everything you ever tried to accomplish. You have such a compassionate heart and even when you rush into things headlong, I know it's only because your heart's in the right place." I sniffle, tears streaming down my face now.

My father understood me so well…and I was so happy to know he accepted my decision. "Blythe, you give it your all out there." He said, holding my face in his large, rough hands. "Try to come home. But, no matter what happens…just know that, even if it's in another lifetime, we…we'll all be together again someday."

I know that took every bit of strength he had in him to say, to admit that I may not come home, so I smile through the tears and hug him tightly.

Knowing our time together is probably almost up, I turn to Oakley and bend down to be on eye level with him.

He looks up at me teary-eyed, and I smile gently, pushing some of his dark hair from his face.

He has the darkest hair of everyone in our family, midnight black and wavy. It always fell in his face and partially covered his eyes.

I would spend hours playing with it sometimes, just like my sister used to play with my hair when we were children.

"Such a strong boy." I say softly, kissing his forehead and enveloping him in a hug.

"S-Sissy I…" he swallows briefly before continuing. "I love you!" he throws himself into me and buries his head in my warm chest. I don't mind, I let him cry into my breasts and rub his back soothingly.

"You be good for Mommy and Daddy and take care of Maple, ok?" I tell him, and he pulls back to nod quickly, thrusting out his chest in an attempt to be brave. I smile warmly. "Don't forget me, ok?" He looks shocked, but then he nods again.

These are the last words I tell him before the Peacekeeper comes into the room and my brother and father exit.

I sigh, knowing that I will be boarding the train soon, and that there is just enough time for one more goodbye. This one would probably be the hardest of all.

I suck in a deep breath when I hear the door open.

Her face ashen and streaked with tear-stains, my sister comes in, guiding a silent Mel by the arm.

I walk over to them carefully, willing myself not to let the dizziness swimming through my head take over.

I pull my sister into a hug and she laughs shakily. "Look at your hair—it's already a mess and I just helped you fixed it not even two hours ago." She complains half-heartedly.

Yes, I remember. Maple always loved dolling me up ever since we were little.

She was definitely the girly one between us, where I was the stubborn tomboy always picking fights with bullies who bothered Mel or any other defenseless kids.

But we still loved each other dearly, despite our being total opposites.

Maple. I will miss her so much. "Well, at least there'll be people in the Capitol to help me with that, since I'm hopeless." I joke weakly.

She smiles back just as somberly, and then steps back to allow me to say my goodbyes to Mel.

I gently touch her arm but she goes rigid, and seconds later, I feel a harsh sting across my face.

Maple gasps loudly while I try to make sense of what has just happened.

"Mel…" I mumble, my tone void of emotion.

I look into her face to see her gritting her teeth. Her fists are clenched so tightly that her knuckles are white and her whole body shakes fiercely. "You…you're so _stupid_!" she spits out, and I am stunned. Never have I seen Mel this way.

Never has she uttered a harsh word to anyone, especially not me.

She takes a sharp, shakily drawn out breath before exhaling it, and though her eyes are covered by the white cloth bandages she sometimes wears over them self-consciously, I can see that the material is slightly damp now.

"You're going to die—for me. For an Untouchable," she says venomously, her voice on the verge of cracking.

"You're the only friend I ever had. Nobody ever wanted to be bothered with a weak nobody like me before you came along. And…and when I got reaped today, I felt so happy that I could die knowing that somebody would remember my meaningless life. But now you're throwing yours away, for nothing!" she sobbed heavily, her thin shoulders wracking as my sister went to place a comforting arm around her.

I felt my heart tearing to pieces. If I died, Mel would be left all alone.

My family would be devastated, I knew, but Mel would be lost.

Her family could barely support themselves and nobody else would notice the frail blind girl begging in the streets.

Without me around, she might lose the will to live completely.

If she died, no one would even remember her; not many people in town even knew her name before today.

It was a tough choice either way; let Mel die in the arena, or sacrifice myself instead and leave everyone I loved behind.

That was the harsh reality of life in Panem though.

I touched Mel's face lightly, and she winced, but didn't try to pull away this time. "Mel, I swear on my life that I will do everything possible to try and get back to you." I meant it too. Every word.

I wasn't ready for this in any sense, but I had people who loved and needed me, so I wouldn't let them down.

"T-this…is for you." Mel reached into the poorly sewn on pocket of her dress and pressed something into my clammy palm.

I stared down at it through my blurring vision. The smooth solid feel of wood in my fingers was familiar and instantly calmed me, just the littlest bit. It was a tiny carving of a bird—a dove, actually.

I burst out laughing and rubbed at my reddened eyes. "Mel, it's…it's great." I smiled sincerely, knowing she couldn't see it. But she sensed my sincerity and smiled back, nodding.

My nickname was "little dove".

My mother had given me this nickname when I was younger.

When I was born, instead of crying like most babies, I whined and stared at everyone with curious olive green eyes.

At least that's what my mother told me.

She almost named me "Olive" because my hazel eyes reminded her of olive tree leaves.

Luckily, my father had stepped in just in time to suggest "Blythe" a name that came from the Blythewood lumber our District was known for.

I didn't like the name Olive too much, so I'm glad my mother changed her mind.

Plus, Blythe sounded more tomboyish anyway. Olive was a dainty name, too dainty.

It would've never suited me.

My mother also liked doves, which were associated with olive trees.

She told me about a story where the earth was flooded and a man named Noah sent out a dove to search for dry land and the bird returned with the twig from an olive branch in its mouth.

Because of my eyes looking like olive leaves, she called me her little dove and the name always stuck.

I used to find it embarrassing when I was little but, now, I realized how much warmth and love was behind it.

The three of us huddled together and embraced one more time, before the stupid ass Peacekeeper came bursting through the door and tore me away from them.

Maple cried out loud and Mel shook desperately as she reached out for me.

I reached out for them too, struggling as the burly Peacekeeper hauled me out with ease.

I mentally cursed my petite size as I was dragged out of the building and to the train station. The Capitol's train was already waiting for us.

Elms and I shared an anxious glance before boarding along with our mentors.

I took one final look out the window to see the vast forests and peaceful scenery of District 7 that I'd always called home. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and closed my eyes to try to block out what I knew would be bittersweet memories.

I heard the train start to squeal as we pulled away, and I couldn't hold back anymore. I cried like there was no tomorrow for me (which wasn't that far from true) and squeezed my dove tight.

This was where my death sentence officially began.

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**How was it? i tried to make Blythe's character as strong and unique as possible so she didn't seem like a typical OC/Mary-Sue. I think I did pretty good actually. I like how she's starting to develop, and how I managed for even the minor characters to have personalities. **

**Anyway, I'd LOVE feedback, just try not to be too hard. I've got lots of other chapters planned, but I don't want to post too much at once until I know what you guys are thinking...so please REVIEW!**


	3. Fashion Victims

**I told myself I wouldn't update until I got some kind of feedback, but I had already half-written this, so I just decided to go ahead and add it, too. Maybe when familiar characters come in, people will review? I really hope so…I'm worried no one will, and this idea will just go to waste entirely.**

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On the train ride to the Capitol, I am struck in awe of the sights, even as I face almost certain death in mere weeks.

We pass through parts of the District I had never seen before, traveling farther than I was ever allowed to go or would be able to on foot.

Johanna Mason begins asking me questions just as we pass the large dam outside our district.

I shake my head of distractions and focus entirely on her, not wanting to miss anything important.

She sighs at my questioning look and says, "What are your skills?" I think for a moment and contemplate this question carefully.

I knew it would be important so she would know how to best advice and help me improve on as much as possible before I headed into the arena.

"Well," I clear my throat slightly. "I can throw an axe pretty far, but I wouldn't say my accuracy is always dead on."

Admitting this to an axe-wielder as proficient as Johanna makes me blush.

"Well, it gives us something to go on." she says, shrugging. "I guess we'll work on that and go from there. Anything else?"

I am struck by how laid-back she seems. Instead of making me worry she might not put enough effort into preparing me for this, it helps me relax a little.

Her appearance is just so…regal. She's still young, maybe anywhere from 17 to 20.

Actually, she can't be much older than my sister! It would seem like she'd be harder to talk to, but she seems straightforward and approachable.

Maybe because we're not decades apart in age, I don't feel as tense around her. I don't know, but I would definitely consider her a reliable mentor.

I hesitate before nodding. The truth was, I had a secret skill no one, not even Mel, knew about.

It wasn't all too common in my district so I was a bit self-conscious about it, but it was a skill I'd been practicing since I was seven.

And in order to have a chance at not getting cut down in three seconds, I needed to pull out all the stops.

"I…I'm really good with a baton." I confess softly, and I notice everyone's eyes seem to be on me.

Even Johanna is looking at me with an arched brow, curious. I continue, just a little more confident, "I'm better and more accurate with a baton than with an axe since it's lighter for me to throw. I'm also highly flexible and good at leaping and dodging." I add, not sure why.

I wasn't going to go into full detail and tell everyone in the car that I had taught myself gymnastics and found a way to combine it with my baton practice.

They would find out soon enough, and I would discuss it more with Johanna when I could speak to her in privacy.

Elms gapes at me, looking impressed, before speaking, "You're not too bad in hand to hand combat either. I've seen you take on that group of boys twice your size to protect your friend." I stare at him, surprised he paid that much attention to me.

He must've seen me on one of the many occasions I had given a group of bullies a taste of their own medicine in Mel's defense.

He nods calmly as he continues, "They walked away with some pretty busted looking faces." he grins.

Blight lets out a low whistle as if he, too, finds it impressive. "Sounds like you're quite the little powerhouse." He smiles lightly, and I return it with a sheepish grin.

Carlos, his carefully pomaded hair split evenly into two colors—metallic gold and cardinal red— straight down the middle, butts in, "Where on earth would you learn something like baton skills in District 7?" he asks in that freaky Capitol accent, and I prepare to answer, expecting as much.

Most of District 7 uses the axe as both a weapon and a tool to work with. They were easy to obtain and useful in everyday life. Batons…were more uncommon, and a skilled baton-user in our district was pretty rare.

"W-well…when I was little I saw a parade broadcast live from the Capitol—I don't remember what it was for, though. But they had baton-throwers in these crazy clothes, and I just…it looked fun so, I started going out in the woods by myself to practice with sticks." I am blushing brightly at this point. My deepest secret has been revealed to people I barely know, not including Elms.

Carlos is beaming proudly, probably because he thinks the Capitol influenced me to learn baton-throwing.

It did, somewhat, but my natural skill was entirely my doing. Blight chuckles lightly at the flushed expression on my face and Johanna studies me intently.

Elms gives me a skeptical look, almost as if he was unsure what to think about the plucky little tomboy from Seven doing something like baton-throwing.

He probably would've imagined me to be a beast at using battle axes, and I might've been, if not for my small size.

I was petite, even without being malnourished, though this certainly didn't help my stunted growth any.

Every year, my mother would measure us, and I barely seemed to gain half a centimeter.

Maple went through a period where she seemed to grow like a weed and was all awkward limbs.

Now, her body had developed well and she was a nice average height with gently sloping curves. It complimented her girly personality.

Heck, even Oakley seemed to be catching up to me, and he had just turned seven not long ago.

Soon, I was sure he would completely overtake me in height.

I wasn't sure if he'd be as monstrous in size as our father, but he was already being taught to use an axe and seemed to be quite clever at it.

He would definitely be tall, and probably leaner built than Dad, but still strong as an ox nonetheless.

But me… I barely stood at 4'11 and only weighed a whopping 105lbs soaking wet. Using heavy axes required a firm grip and the shoulder strength to guide the motions of the weapon without accidently taking yourself out.

Johanna was actually pretty petite too, but you could tell she was born to have an axe in her hands. I guess it was just a natural fit for her, like me and the baton.

I was alright with a medium-sized axe, but I knew that there was no way I'd learn to be as good as Johanna in time for the games. Practicing my baton-throwing was probably my best bet.

I am broken out of my thoughts when Blight asks, "Do you think you could parry against a stronger opponent long enough to get away?" I nod quickly.

Yes, I could hold my own against a more powerful foe if I had my baton and they weren't using anything too overwhelming or indestructible.

I was once attacked by a full grown stag out in the woods and had to use my makeshift baton to defend me against his lethal horns.

I got away with a bad gash to my thigh, which I still had the scar on, but I had been able to push him back and then deliver a powerful enough blow between the eyes to leave him completely stunned and allow me to escape.

I could probably take hits and block a sword with it, though I wasn't too sure about smaller weapons like knives or arrows.

Johanna looks at me thoughtfully, "We may be able to work with this. If you're as good as you claim with a baton, it'd be a solid offensive and defensive weapon. Plus, you could probably find one in the arena, and if not, making one from wood shouldn't be too hard." I am relieved by this answer and manage a small grin.

Blight then turns to Elms' to ask the same question Johanna asked me. "What about you, son? Have any skills worth noting?"

Elms looks thoughtful for a moment before slowly nodding. I stare at him attentively.

I know he is fast at delivering papers on his route so he must be a good long-distance runner, and he's probably handled an axe at some point growing up like most boys in our District, but to be honest, I'm not really even sure what he can do. Is he hiding a secret talent, too?

"I'm pretty hard to catch when I'm in an all out run." He says, and I mentally nod. "I'm also pretty handy with a knife and decent in hand to hand combat." Now this makes me resize him a bit.

I'd never have pegged mild-mannered Elms to be any kind of knife-throwing fiend. But I guess he could've been practicing using carving knives back home.

As if to demonstrate, he takes something from one of his worn boots and holds it up for us to see. Yup, it's a carving knife alright. But this one is a lot fancier than most I've ever seen.

The handle is actually a shiny white and looks hard. "It's ivory," he says, "It belonged to my grandfather and I never go anywhere without it." My mouth gapes just a little.

Ivory is rare and expensive. A luxury import. I wonder where his grandfather had gotten it from.

With a smooth flick of his wrist, he half turns and throws it at the door, slightly behind Carlos to the left. It whizzes by his ear narrowly and sticks solidly in the middle. I am staring at Elms in reverent awe now, while Carlos looks pretty shaken up.

"V-very nice, but save it for the arena!" he chastises lightly, fixing his ridiculous looking pomade.

Johanna is looking very intrigued and Blight has a look of satisfaction to his features as well.

They are impressed with our skills. This is good. Our mentors have faith in us.

Or at least in Elms since they have yet to see my skills, but they seem willing to take my word for it and give me a chance.

We talk a little bit more about arena strategies and what angles we should use at the interviews. I have no idea what to do about either.

At home I am the black sheep, the fierce but tiny tomboy who picks fights, climbs trees in skirts, and is friends with the social outcast everyone else avoids like the plague.

I'm not really sure how much going with the little daredevil card would play to my advantage. Not to mention I'm not even sure if I would get a chance to use my proficiency with batons in the arena.

And Elms, what would his angle be? The lovable and loyal boy-next-door character that didn't deserve to die? Somehow, I'm thinking we're going to need something a little more complex to draw in any sponsors.

The sun has almost set now, and I realize we must've been on this train for at least a few hours. Wow, time really flies when you're trying to prepare for your own death as casually as possible.

Carlos leads us all into the dining cart, and shortly after we sit down, Avoxes appear with what has to be the most luxurious feast I have ever seen.

I recognize very little of it, except for the grained bread, plump fruit and roasted game meat. And even they look so succulent and unfamiliar.

Compared to this, I might as well have been eating table scraps my whole life.

Which is probably what people in the Capitol would consider the kind of things we get to eat at home.

I eye the meat hungrily and try to ignore the way my mouth waters at the delicious aroma. It looks like some kind of bird…probably duck or pheasant or something else only people in the Capitol could afford to eat.

Carlos doesn't bat any eye as he neatly cuts into his meat.

He's so used to this, living there his whole life without a care; it's really unfair how your life can be so different just depending where you're born.

A dark-haired Avox sets a full plate down in front of me and I lean into it so far my nose almost touches the food.

I resist the urge to eat with my hands and awkwardly pick up the sterling silverware. I scrunch my nose in distaste as it makes a clanking sound.

As if eating with wooden utensils at home wasn't bad enough— all I ever really wanted to do when I was hungry was shove it down my throat anyway. Screw etiquette...

I had to suppress a snort of laughter as I thought of how out of place I must look in my off white hand-me-down dress and grimy, freckled face.

My hair was coming out of the fancy twist Maple had put it in just that morning. Maple…I bet she would love this kind of thing.

She loved playing dress up when we were little girls and don't even get me started on those dumb tea parties I used to be forced into 'attending'.

I tried not to think too much of home as Carlos rambled on and on about all the lovely festivities we would see once we got to the Capitol in preparation for the games.

He dabbed at the corners of his mouth daintily between every bite and broke his bread off into small pieces before eating it. It was so funny—in a totally _non-funny_, disgusting way— how the people from the Capitol really thought this was all just some friendly game in sport where no one ever really got hurt.

I crammed half a roll in my mouth and tried to swallow as much as possible without chewing. My cheeks bulged with the effort.

I heard Elms chuckling quietly across from me, sipping from his cup of…juice, I think it was. I had only ever had one kind of juice before—apple— and that was years ago.

"Well, we'll be there a little after dawn tomorrow. Get a good night's sleep, you'll need it if you're gonna survive the Remake Center." Johanna tells us sluggishly while gnawing on the juicy leg she's holding.

She had her elbow propped up on the table and looked like she didn't give a damn whether or not she was talking with her mouthful.

Instead of cringing at this very unladylike behavior, I grinned.

I felt like I had definitely found a kindred spirit in my mentor.

She didn't care about everyone's conventional roles on women; she had her own agenda and stuck to it.

Blight gave us a little apologetic smile for Johanna's behavior before shaking his head fondly at the petite but graceful vixen that was now my mentor.

He was obviously pretty used to her antics by now.

"Manners, Johanna." he laughs softly. "Sorry, the food does it to her every time, you know?" Elms and I laugh a little and Johanna gives him a lazy scowl, but doesn't stop chomping on the leg.

Carlos is looking at her disdainfully as he carefully tips his glass back slightly so only a little of the rich burgundy liquid in the glass passes his lips at a time. More refined Capitol etiquette, I'm sure.

Too bad you really didn't care about being refined when you had literally been starving half to death your whole life.

They were lucky I wasn't shoving my face down in the plate right now.

When dinner is over, I realize I had never been more stuffed before in my life. So this was what it felt like to be full. I could actually get used to this. Too bad I would only have a limited time to enjoy it.

Carlos shows us our rooms, and again I was amazed. The bed is bigger than me and my sisters' combined, with room to spare. The floor was covered in rich red carpeting and everything looked of the highest quality.

They really went all out to make a girl feel special before she died, I'll give them that.

As soon as my door was closed, I take a running leap and flop onto the bed. It felt like swimming in a sea of silk.

I actually make "sheet angels" before realizing how ridiculous this was and sitting up suddenly. I can see the scenery still going by from my window.

The sun had set some time ago, and although I wasn't really tired, I decided to try to get some sleep like Johanna said.

I look down and realize I was still in the same wrinkled dress I'd been in all day. I guess I could sleep in this if there was nothing else.

Just as I was thinking of taking a quick shower, just to see what one felt like, there was a steady knock on the door, and I opened it a crack to find another avox, this one with ginger hair, holding a folded pair of clothes out to me.

She looked at me kindly and then hands me the clothes. I look down at the garment and blink, before thanking her.

She looks a little startled I had even acknowledged her, but I just shrug it off as I closed the door again.

I wasn't that tired, and I figure I should probably bathe, so I walked into my bathroom for the first time since boarding the train.

Again, my jaw nearly hit the floor. Everything was just so…sparkly and refined, at least compared to the small shared bathroom we used back home. I put the clothes down on the sink; I still hadn't unfolded it yet, and began to tug the dress over my head.

It took a few attempts since my mother had tied a very complicated knot on both ties on the back of the dress—one tied it shut in the middle and one at the neck, like some kind of weird hospital-style—but after a brief struggle, I was left in only my underwear and bra, which I also quickly shed.

When I had flung off my socks and shoes and my bare feet touched the cool tile, a little shiver went up my back and I rubbed my arms nervously as I padded over to the shower.

I had never used one before. We had a small tub all of us children had to share, while my parents had a slightly bigger tub in their bathroom.

The water that came out was almost always room temperature, or luke warm if we were lucky, but never actually hot.

I looked at the weird knob things I had never seen before when I stepped inside, and turned the one on the left.

I was instantly cascaded with freezing cold water, and I yelp.

I quickly turn the other knob slightly, and the water soon became a nice, comfortable temperature.

I sigh in bliss. So _this_ was what it feels like to have warm water. I find a wrapped bar of soap and some shampoo to my right on a small built-in shelf in the shower.

I lather my dirty blond hair with the shampoo until my head is foamy and smells like lavender.

Then I grab the soap and begin to scrub my body clean from all the sweat and dirt that had built up.

When I was done, I feel more refreshed than I ever had after taking a bath, and walk out to find a towel waiting for me on the bar outside the shower door.

I dry myself off and picked up the pajamas. My eyebrows quirk skeptically as I hold the unfolded little thing out in front of me. These _are_ pajamas, aren't they? This wasn't really what they expect me to sleep in, right? It was so thin, it barely covered anything!

I put it on sulkily since I figure there is no point in putting dirty clothes back on after I have gone through the trouble of bathing.

When I look at myself in the mirror a mixture of awe and horror is present on my face.

My mouth is opened slightly in surprise and my hazel eyes with flecks of gray and bright gold are wide.

My dark blond hair is still damp and some of it clings to my forehead stubbornly while the rest brushes my shoulders, the fact that it's wet makes the dark highlights I always wish would go away stand out.

The flimsy nightdress also makes me notice just how small I really am, as it is a size too large and hangs loosely from my shoulders.

I sigh, wiping some of the hair on my forehead back. I don't look like a threat to anyone right now.

In fact, I look so harmless and mouse-like I'd probably laugh at _myself_ if I tried to intimidate the other tributes. Obviously, getting sponsors through being menacing was out.

But maybe I can use my size to my advantage and let people underestimate me…Although, that could be risky. If I pretended to be weak, it might keep the other tributes from growing suspicious, but it also might make me a target if they decided to go after the weak first.

And I probably wouldn't get many, if any, sponsors at all; why invest money in a kid that's so obviously going to die on day one in the arena?

Maybe I should ask Johanna what to do. I know it worked for her, but that's only because she had her skills and cunning to back it up.

She was tough enough to survive the bloodbath at the Cornucopia without anyone's help. But if the other tributes outmatched me in skill, having sponsors could literally be my only lifeline, in which case I would not be able to afford playing the weakest link.

Anyway, I decide to work out all these details later. The shower has made me strangely sluggish, and despite my discomfort in the gown, I crawl into bed and sink into the soft mattress.

It's still dark outside when I hear the urgent knocking on my door, and then Carlos' muffled voice on the other side, telling me to get dressed and ready to exit in the next hour in a half. My eyes bulge and I scramble from bed.

I can't believe we're almost there all ready! My stomach starts twisting in knots, and I wonder if I'm ready to step foot into the Capitol.

What am I saying, of course not!

But, there wasn't exactly a way out. An Avox appears to hand me my outfit for today and make my bed.

I thank her hastily before zooming into the bathroom and throwing off my barely worn gown.

Not that I'm not glad to be out of _this _thing, though I admit it was more comfortable than I would've thought.

Since I took a shower last night and I'm pressed for time anyway, I just grab a brush from the sink counter and groom my unruly hair as much as possible.

I was never good at this. Like I mentioned earlier, Maple is the one who lives for this kind of thing, not me.

She does my hair most days. All I know how to do is brush it and put it into a ponytail. It's probably pretty sad for a fourteen-year old, but I don't care.

I put it into the only style I know how and change into the clean underwear and bra. The Avox also must have washed my clothes from last night, because the dress I got on the train in is folded neatly nearby.

Wow, they must be really silent if I didn't hear anyone come in. Was I that out of it?

I shake my head and pull on the plain long-sleeved white shirt and dark green pants they gave me.

I step into my worn out boots and make my way to the dining car first, figuring that's where everyone will be. I'm right, as I see both mentors, our escort, and Elms gathered out there.

I greet them all, stifling a light yawn and everyone returns the greeting. I slide into my place at the table just as an Avox arrives with a large glass pitcher of some kind of orange drink and a whole tureen of fresh fruit.

Some kind of sweet rolls with icing, dark, strong smelling liquid and more sides of meat than I can shake a stick at are also brought out. I know some of it is bacon, sausage, and a whole ham, but I have no idea what the rest of it is.

I put as much as I think I can hold on my plate, and take a small nibble of the roll. It's delicious!

I happily take a bigger bite and Elms laughs slightly as white icing gets on my cheeks.

Johanna smirks at my manners before pouring the strong, dark liquid into her cup and popping a few grapes into her mouth.

"I guess we should probably watch the recaps of the Reaping, huh?" she asks, not really sounding too interested.

And so after everyone eats quickly, we gather in the lounge car and Blight turns on the TV.

Just as Johanna mentioned, the recaps of the Reapings are playing right now, and it looks like it just started.

I didn't see it yesterday, because I was still trying to wrap my head around what is happening.

So this will be my first real look at the competition.

First up is District 1. Their tributes usually volunteer and are always Careers, always some of the deadliest tributes in the games.

They'll most likely be tough to beat. I'm a little surprised when I see the first girl chosen. She didn't volunteer, shockingly, but she looks happy to be picked nonetheless.

Even more surprising, she's a beautiful blond and a little on the small side, her hair falls in bouncy curls and she flashes the camera a charming wink as she stands next to her escort.

The crowd cheers wildly, and many of the males in the crowd are staring at her in infatuation. Those freaks really think it is some kind of high honor to send kids to their doom.

The next tribute, the male, is a tall boy with close cut brown hair and a lean build.

He's not all bulky with muscle, but I'm not going to lull myself into believing either of these kids aren't dangerous.

Both appear older than me and are much bigger, obviously better fed. Not only that, but they've most likely been training for this their whole lives. They have an obvious disadvantage.

The recaps move on to the next district, District 2, and I see the tributes of yet another Career District. These kids are also trained for the games from an early age, and they will probably ally with the Careers from One.

The girl tribute for this year is also pretty dainty, shorter than the girl from 1, but still with a solid few inches over me.

But her height is in no way indicative of weakness if the smug look she sports as she waltzes on to stage after volunteering means anything.

She must be good if she's this confident otherwise she would've never volunteered.

She has a dangerous glint to her emerald eyes when the camera does a close up of her face.

I shiver at her cold smirk; she's going to be the end of a lot of tributes, that's for sure.

The weirdest thing is she's barely any older than me! She can't be any more than a year older, but somehow she seems so much more…predatory.

Is this what I'd be like if I was raised in a Career district?

Next, the male tribute is chosen, but again, before the boy can even slink his way onto the stage, another hand shoots in the air as an older boy volunteers. My jaw unhinges completely and I stare in cold terror.

The boy that steps onto the stage is _huge_! He is probably as big as my dad, definitely over six feet, and just as muscular.

Every inch of him radiates power, and he could probably snap my neck with one finger if he wanted.

There's no way I can ever compete against _that_. Even if he _fell_ on me by accident, it would kill me instantly.

"Damn, what the hell has Brutus been giving those kids?" I hear Johanna hiss from the armchair to my right.

"Some hell of a training regimen," Blight remarks.

Carlos looks impressed by the monstrous brute, whom I briefly hear telling the escort that his name is Cato.

I feel like my entire body is boneless and I am just a quivering mess of jelly.

And there are still nine more districts to go! Elms glances at me, frowning.

He also notices the obvious danger of the Careers. But a few seconds later, his frown fades into a tight line and his eyes blaze with determination.

I'm a little shocked.

Elms actually seems up for the challenge, even though I'm sure he probably knows nothing we ever did in District 7 could compare to the kind of training our competition has received. Still, if he's not giving up yet then neither should I.

I steel myself as the replays continue. District 3 looks normal, thankfully. No freakishly muscled giants or evil-eyed she-devils.

District 4 doesn't look too threatening either. The boy is probably my age, is small and has greenish eyes and curly red hair.

The girl is much older, probably 17 or 18, and has dark hair and eyes, but looks like she might have some fight in her.

I guess we'll see what she can do later. Districts 5 and 6 are also pretty ordinary. Well, except for the redheaded girl from 5.

There's something…different about her.

Maybe it's her sharp, fox-like features or her dark eyes that flash with intelligence, but something tells me she's hiding something.

My mentor seems to notice the same thing I do, because her eyes narrow slightly as she studies the small frame of the girl on the screen.

"Watch that one. She's wily." Is all she says, but I nod seriously and Elms also seems to regard the fox girl warily.

Watching the replays from my own district was weird. It only happened yesterday, but it already felt like a lifetime ago.

My heart sunk to my feet when I saw Mel standing there, frozen as she turned to look in my direction along with everyone else.

I hadn't even noticed when I'd impatiently pushed some hair out of my face or bitten my lip before responding to Carlos' questions yesterday I was so busy freaking out.

Now I looked so different in my own eyes; I looked, in that moment, determined to change something I felt was unfair.

I looked…passionate and ready for anything, the exact opposite of how I'd felt yesterday.

I guess my adrenaline had been in control at that moment.

It told me to run but since I knew that wasn't an option, I was prepared to stand my ground and fight tooth and nail.

That was probably what my father meant when he said he knew there was no stopping me when my mind was made up.

Elms joins me on stage and then the next district is shown. District 8.

The girl that is chosen struggles to get up onto the stage in a cotton dress with way too many layers.

I know they're big on fabrics, but how can anyone be comfortable in all that stuff?

The boy that soon follows her looks like he's about to puke on himself.

"Man, that kid's face already looks like road kill…" Johanna murmurs, causing Blight to elbow her from his chair, and me to laugh under my breath.

Districts 9 and 10 are also standard tributes for the poorer districts.

They were dirty and scared out of their minds. The boy from 10 has a pretty heavy limp as he approaches the stage, and I feel a small stab of pity.

It was probably from some birth defect, and I wonder if his District also treated his handicap with bitterness.

I wonder if anyone will be sad when he died. I hope so, I hope he has family or even one good friend to support him, I hope someone would bother to remember him.

District 11's tributes were…strangely memorable to me.

Maybe it was because the little girl was just as small as me. We probably stood at the same height back to back. The two shortest female tributes in the Games…

She has brown skin and thick, curly hair. Her face looked solemn, but she isn't crying or panicking, though I'm sure she was probably scared to death on the inside.

It must suck to get called on your very first Reaping. I had made it through two before this, and I could've made it through three, if I hadn't volunteered.

The boy is…built like an ox. He's almost as big as that boy from 2, although besides his size, there's nothing to indicate he has the same ruthless ambitions.

His face is somehow gentle, and I instantly feel for him. He looks like a quiet soul that normally wouldn't hurt a fly. Another innocent life lost.

I realize with a painful ache in my chest that no matter who is crowned victor, twenty-four children will still die, even the one that wins.

How could anyone, even the most ruthless of them all, go into the arena and not come out a different person?

The very last District catches my attention for an entirely different reason.

At first, the escort, a woman in a ridiculous looking powder pink wig with a matching ensemble and insensible heels, calls a name and a young blond girl, wide-eyed and pale with shock steps forward.

Then, another voice screams out, and the camera angles around to show an older girl who is the complete opposite with her olive skin and chestnut brown hair, pushing her way through, desperately yelling the same words I had not even twenty-four hours ago.

"_I volunteer!"_ she cries out, then, more shakily she adds, _"I v-volunteer as tribute." _I am stunned, the words echoing through me like a gong.

The whole crowd seems to freeze as well, and the blond girl is hauled away screaming over the shoulder of a tall, olive-skinned boy.

The dark-haired girl makes it up to the stage and quietly whispers into the microphone when asked to state her name, "_K-Katniss Everdeen._"

Katniss…Everdeen. She volunteered to save that girl, just like I had done for Mel.

I feel tears threatening to spill out. How could I go into the arena and possibly fight against someone who was there for the exact same reason I was?

Maybe…we would never meet though. Maybe one of us would die before we ever came face to face. I think that would be best.

"_Well, I bet my buttons that young lady was your sister." _The escort chirps in her high-pitched Capitol voice.

Who says 'bet my buttons' anyway? Tch, Capitol rejects…

She nods slowly, numbly staring straight ahead. _"Yes…" _she answers.

She announces Katniss Everdeen as the female tribute of District 12 and begins to clap.

I can't help but slap my forehead at how totally oblivious this woman is. Only people in the Capitol and the Career districts ever celebrate the Reapings.

No one in the crowd is fazed at all, they're all staring up at her solemnly, a few with pained expressions on their faces.

Then, they all give her a three-fingered salute, already they've decided she'll die. I seethe with anger at what little faith those people have in someone who so selflessly sacrificed themselves.

But Elms puts a hand on my shoulder and I look up to see he looks a little worried, probably thinking the Reapings are getting to me.

I nod that I'm ok and turn my attention back to the TV just as she calls out the boy's name, "_Peeta Mellark!_" she shrieks.

A stocky blond boy joins them on the stage and he looks completely devastated, glancing at the girl.

Oh. He likes her, huh? Wow, that's gotta be rough… I don't know why but I've always had a sixth sense for romance, even though I'd never paid much attention to the opposite sex and was the black sheep in town.

The recaps end and Johanna flips the television off just as Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith come back on and start to rattle off what they thought of this year's tributes.

She stands up to stretch and Blight follows, turning to us. "We'll be arriving any minute now. Make sure you're ready to go."

We both nod, and Carlos begins to yammer excitedly about how wonderful it feels to be back home.

No one responds though, so he shuts up rather quickly.

I bitterly think that it _is _wonderful, _if _you can return home whenever you want to after being on a train that takes kids to their ultimate deaths every single year.

Most kids, like us, don't get that luxury though. Carlos takes it for granted that he can ride on a train to our district and back to the Capitol without ever having to worry about it being his last ride.

The train pulls into the station and I am just about to stomp out when a hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Remember to appear pleasant and gracious to be here, even if you can't stand it on the inside." Blight whispers to me. "Flattering potential sponsors by acting impressed is always a good way to get an early leg up." What he says makes sense, I guess.

So I'll try it. I walk off the train and onto the platform, which is surrounded by a roaring crowd of colorfully dressed freaks of all shapes and sizes.

The Capitol citizens have definitely gone all out, as usual, decked in their Hunger Games memorabilia, as if their normal "_clothes_" weren't ridiculous enough.

I smile tightly and attempt and awkward curtsy, since I'm wearing pants and not all that coordinated to begin with.

I stumble a little and Elms helps steady me, causing a portion of the crowd to gush loudly. I blink.

Maybe this will be easier than I thought. They seem to like 'cute moments', so as long as I'm here, that's what they'll get.

I make sure to turn on the charm and look wide-eyed and impressed—which I'm sad to admit a part of me really is—as I look around at everything that catches my eye. The crowd goes crazy and I inwardly smirk. '_Suckers…' _

We're led to the Remake Center, where all the tributes will be made up and dressed for the Opening Ceremonies and tribute parade, which always officially kicks off the "celebrations" leading up to the Games in the Capitol.

For families around the country though, it begins their grieving, knowing that these are the last few weeks most of their children will be alive.

Johanna and Blight leave, saying that mentors aren't allowed to be with their tributes while they're being prepared. Instead, they go to find the other mentors, probably try to make small talk and assess the competition, I'm guessing.

Elms and I walk into the building and I choke on my own spit. It is huge inside, people are rushing around everywhere.

I think I see a few of the other tributes in the heavy throng of people, but it's hard to tell.

Elms and I are quickly ushered in separate directions and I give him a small wave as we part. He returns it with a minute smile.

I get pulled into a room by a lady carrying a clipboard that has hair dyed to look like a tiger's fur, stripes and all.

Her skin also has been tattooed orange with black cheetah spots. I'm going to go out on a limb and say she likes big cats.

"Ok, stay here while I get your prep team." She says, blowing gum near my face. I resist the urge to pop it.

I roll my eyes when she turns to leave. Stay here? As if I have a choice.

I stare up at the ceiling and idly wonder what they're going to do to me. Hopefully, nothing too extreme or embarrassing.

Sometimes the tributes have to wear abstract or downright ridiculous costumes, and sometimes they go out almost naked.

I groan when I think of the stupid lumber jack costumes my district almost always gets put in. Plaid shirts and overalls with pants and skirts that look like tree trunks are only a slight step up from nudity in my book.

Why? Because it's boring. At least being nearly naked means you're sure to draw attention.

Being a tree is something you aspire to in your third-grade school pageant.

It would be ok if it was only done once every few years, but the repetition makes me sick.

I am just starting to get impatient with my yet-to-arrive prep team when the door bursts open and three of the wackiest looking people I have ever seen stroll in.

There are two men and one woman. Oh joy, just what I want…to be naked in front of strangers who just so happen to be mostly male.

Considering I've never even kissed a boy, it's pretty embarrassing to think about.

I try to swallow my dignity as they start circling me.

I know they are trying to size me up and think of where to begin, but I feel like I'm a dying animal about to become fresh food for a group of buzzards.

"Wow, you're a puny thing aren't you?" the woman chuckles, acting as if somehow this is supposed to be inoffensive. I glare lightly and ball my hands into fists at my sides. "My name's Darlene." She says afterwards.

She is in typical Capitol fashion. Electric blue hair in short pigtails, several piercings down the bridge of her nose, atrociously long eyelashes and lips that pucker out like a puffer fish, obviously the result of plastic surgery.

I don't know if I trust these freakish looking people to make me into a beautiful masterpiece.

"Ew…take off _this_ thing." one male says in a slightly effeminate manner, plucking at my sleeve in disgust. He's wearing a lot of makeup, more than most women I know. Fuchsia lipstick, plum eye shadow, a rose blush on his high cheeks, and actual _jewels_ implanted in his irises.

Yuck. That's gross, and I can't imagine how painful it must've been.

The lengths these people would go in order to 'look good' astounds me, especially since it seemed like the more effort they put into it, the uglier they turn out. "We need to work on you from head to toe."

The other male and Darlene are already busy removing my clothes before I even have time to object, and soon the painful process of being…_beautified_ starts.

I now know what Johanna meant. This is a sick new form of torture the Capitol has come up with—very sick.

The last man is slightly—very slightly—more subdued in style.

He has a weird neon yellow mohawk thing which spikes in a single point at the front of his head, and his eyes have been surgically altered to look like a reptile's with the sliver of slitted pupils and the eerie yellow color all over, even in the whites.

When he speaks, I notice his tongue has also been surgically altered, because it's forked, and he has a stud in it.

"Oh yeah," Darlene says as she begins to apply some sort of tingling cream to my bare arms and shoulders. "The guy with the fabulous make up is Ronnie," she introduces and he gives a mock curtsy like an actress after a play, before going back to plucking every last nonexistent hair from between my eyebrows.

I mean, I'm fourteen years old, for christ's sake, I've only _just_ started puberty not long ago, how could I have excess body hair? "And the lizard man is Cobra."

"That's _Kobre'_." He corrects. "The 'e' is accented."

Darlene just shrugs. "Yeah, anyway, so keep still and you'll be out of here in no time."

"_Squirm_ too much ad I might 'accidentally' pluck your eye out." Ronnie grins evilly.

I can already tell he is the snootiest one on the team. Darlene seems like she could care less about this whole thing and _Kobre' _is focused on making me "less hideous" as Ronnie puts it.

I swear I wish the entire Capitol would just sink into a deep, bottomless pit and rot in oblivion somewhere.

When I have been plucked, scrubbed, waxed and thoroughly violated in ways I didn't even know were possible my prep team steps back to observe me, obviously proud of their work as I sit there, naked as a newborn Mockingjay and red all over.

They complement each other smugly and act as if I'm supposed to kiss their feet now. Fat chance.

They then announce that my stylist will be arriving soon, and bounce out of the room giggling and energetic as ever.

What was wrong with these people? They didn't have a care in the world. They acted like they had just played a satisfying game of dress-up with their favorite new doll.

But I guess that's all I was to them, to President Snow and the Capitol—a doll to be played with and then thrown away when it got horribly broken beyond repair.

The thought that people could be so nonchalant about the way they treated tributes both disgusted and enraged me, but I decided to keep it in check as the door opened and a woman probably in her early thirties came in.

I have to bite my lip to keep from gawking. If I thought my prep team looked ridiculous…

'_Send in the clowns._' I think bitterly.

She has waist-length hair dyed a crisp teal color with rainbow highlighted extensions sewn in all over.

Her orangey, olive skin tone was obviously the result of tanning treatments, and her bright magenta hued mascara and lipstick clashed loudly with her surgically enhanced cat-eyes, one forest green and the other indigo.

I didn't know what to say. What _was_ this woman? Was she really even human?

With every second I spent in the Capitol, the differences of the life I'd lived up 'til now, and the lives of the people that'd spent their lives in luxury, stood out more and more.

"Hello, you must be Blythe. I'm your stylist Odette." she says, her Capitol accent clear as day.

She held out her hand to shake, and I noted the incredibly long nails, all some different neon color. I tried not to cringe in disgust as I shook it as quickly as possible. "Y-yes," I mumble weakly.

"Well… the thing is," Odette coughs lightly, "The lumber jack theme has been _way_ overdone." She explains, and I can't help but mentally agree.

Every year, District 7 tributes were either lumberjacks, or in some kind of walking tree get-up. Neither was ever very flattering in my opinion, or got them a whole lot of sponsors.

"So, what are you planning?" I ask her levelly, only to see the devilish twinkle in her eyes.

"I've consulted with my partner, and we've decided to give you guys something a little more…eco-friendly this year. Something that really showcases the forest theme in a new light."

I instantly feel myself pale and take a step back. I knew you couldn't trust a woman with rainbow highlighted hair! What was she planning to do when she said "eco-friendly"?

I mean, she _was_ from the Capitol, for pete's sake…I doubt most of the people here even know what it means to be environmentally conscious.

What if her definition of _eco-friendly_ had me rolling down the street in nothing but a fig-leaf?! I wasn't too crazy about this already.

"Don't worry," she reassured me as if reading my thoughts. I guess the hesitation on my face was pretty visible, "It's nothing too extreme on your part. You just have to trust me, smile big, and by the end of the parade, you'll be rolling in sponsors."

I look at her for a long time, trying to decide if I really want to put my fate in the hands of someone whose fashion sense reminds me of Rainbow Bright on crack.

I groan, "Well, it's not like I have a choice…" Her smirk instantly returns full force, and I grimace.

'_For the love of Panem, please spare me…' _

What seems like hours later, I am reunited with Elms, and we both survey each other in disbelief. I can't believe what we are wearing. I would've never guessed that Odette could think up something like _this_.

I do a short twirl in my dress; it stops two inches above the knees and was without a doubt the most extravagant thing I'd ever worn.

I looked like…a forest sprite. So that's what Odette meant when she said "a new light".

I have to admit, the outfit was stunning. The dress was designed to look as though it were made of overlapping leaves, and it shimmered every time I moved, like morning dew on grass.

My shoes were small, green and very pixie-like.

My hair had been tussled and curled to give it a sort of "dancing in the rain" look, and I wore light, smoky eye shadow that made my hazel eyes hard to miss.

I was beautiful. The only thing I could do without was the low neckline that showed a bit too much cleavage for my taste.

But Odette insisted I still looked very innocent and the low cut made the outfit more magical and would ensure I got sponsors to look my way.

I almost snorted at this. Yeah. Just what I needed: a bunch of horny old Capitol men trying to sneak looks down my outfit while I waved to the crowd.

"Wow…" Elms breathed, surveying me again. "You look…amazing. It's like a fairy flitted straight out of the woods!" I look at him and gave him my own grateful smile.

"You're pretty spritely looking yourself." I teased.

He wore green leotards and an intricate blazer half open that looked exactly like my dress—like leaves covered in dew.

He even had a piper's hat with a red feather in it.

"If you think you look incredible now, wait until you see the piece de resistance~!" Elm's stylist, Daemon, sings.

He and Odette step forward and both tug something on the backs of our outfits that make something _whoosh_ across my exposed back—the dress has a slit down the curve of my spine that has corset stitching.

I give the grinning stylists a suspicious look as I attempt to look behind my back. "What? What'd you do?" I ask, failing to see what was causing the faint breeze across my skin.

I catch a slight movement that was just out of my peripheral vision every time I turn, though.

"Blythe…!" I hear Elmsley gasp suddenly.

I whirl to him to see what he was talking about when I catch the sight of delicate-looking, nearly translucent things hovering behind him.

_ 'Wings.' _I thought in awe, and knew at once that a similar pair was most likely causing the slight draft I felt every time I turned.

They were incredible. They remind me something of a dragonfly's. Thin, clear and long.

What amazed me the most, though, was how they move. As if they were real and attached.

When Elms breaths, they gently rise and fall with his motions, and when he cocks his head to look at me, they flit slightly.

"Do you like?" Odette gives me the sly smirk I am beginning to grow accustomed to. "We sewed them into an extra compartment on the backs of your clothes." She explains.\

I guess that was so they wouldn't get in the way when we move or change.

"They're synthetic, but we wanted them to seem real, so we actually used fabric that mimics the motions of a dragonfly's wings." Daemon adds, "Pretty cool, right?"

"_Very_ cool." Elms agrees.

I smile in utter gratitude at the duo. I'd had my doubts, but Odette has really come through for me. I actually feel better about getting at least a few sponsors to notice me now.

"Come on now, it's almost time for the Opening Ceremonies to start."

They usher us to a large room down the hallway.

When the door opens my breath hitches in my throat slightly and I squeak under my breath.

Some of the other tributes are there, some eyeing us warily while we enter while some simply glance at us and look away.

When we step closer and they catch sight of the clear wings fidgeting nervously behind us, the stares linger more.

I give myself a tiny grin. Maybe if the other tributes are curious, the costumes really _will_ get sponsors to look at us.

I try to look at the other tributes without making eye contact. I succeed, until I catch eyes with the girl from Two.

She and the giant brute are wearing their gladiator ensemble, and look fierce.

The girl is leering at everyone as if daring them to say something stupid. She seems to appraise me dismissively, and I quickly turn away.

The beautiful blond girl I saw on TV from District One is watching us closely now. She and her district partner are dressed in pink and blue very...fluffy outfits.

I have to admit, even with the ridiculously furry looking costumes their stylist put them in, she is still stunning.

She smirks as she looks around the room, obviously deciding that no one else is even competition, and that the crowd will be eating out of her hand.

She turns away from me, this time, and I try not to catch anyone else's eyes by looking at my feet. Before long, the announcement is made that is time for the first district to board their chariot, and they are rushed off by their stylists.

One by one, more and more leave, and the rush of nerves I thought I'd managed to suppress returns. As Elms helps me into the chariot, Odette gives me a smirk and mumbles to "knock 'em dead".

Poor choice of words, all things considered, but I guess I appreciate the support, if that's what you want to call it.

Our chariot starts to move and I almost squint my eyes shut before remembering I have to try to draw in sponsors.

So I look up and see myself on the large screen overhead and the roar seems deafening.

I paste on my cutest smile and give bubbly waves to the crowd. Women gush with hearts practically in their eyes and men blow kisses and wink.

Uh, whoa...back off pervs, I'm fourteen.

Elms nudges me gently and I look up at him to see he's smiling at me, trying to give me encouragement, I return the smile and we both continue to wave at our new "admirers".

Our chariots makes its way to the end of the circle and stops so I turn to watch the other tributes come in.

Most of them manage to keep up their front while some look visibly nervous or sick, probably not used to big crowds.

When the last tributes come down the street, my heart literally stops. I think almost everyone's does.

They're on_ fire_. _Fire_. But they seem perfectly fine.

They're holding hands and the girl is making a big show of blowing kisses and waving to the crowd. She even catches a few roses.

They are going wild now, and I see the other tributes faces are a mixture of horror, awe, and in the case of the blond Career and her allies, pure rage.

An upstart from an outlying district has stolen the parade away from them.

That's never happened before, and they're sure to be pretty ticked off about it.

There's no doubt in my mind who single-handedly dominated this parade.

So much for sponsors...

I know I should be furious, but I'm too busy being in awe.

This is the girl that volunteered in Twelve.

Katniss Everdeen.

* * *

**Wow, what a long chapter this was...I enjoyed writing it though. **

**There _was_ supposed to be some brief interaction between Blythe and the Careers, but it got deleted before I could save, so I just revised that part and edited it out for now.**

** She will meet the other characters very soon. Please let me know how you think I did by REVIEWING.**


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